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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495489">Hot Water (Jamack x Reader)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerseedMcgibbions/pseuds/SunflowerseedMcgibbions'>SunflowerseedMcgibbions</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Breeding, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Love Confessions, Other, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:46:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495489</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerseedMcgibbions/pseuds/SunflowerseedMcgibbions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamack is in trouble and for the first time, it's not life-threatening. He's in trouble because he's caught feelings for you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jamack/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Falling With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>MADE FOR ADULT AUDIENCES, 18 AND UP</p><p>Well, if no-one else was gonna come forward with cartoon frog smut, I guess I'll take one for the team. I know there's people out there who want this. Enjoy the drabble turned story! </p><p>I take no responsibility for my wild imagination.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jamack is in trouble. In being a Mod Frog, he's no new stranger to the concept. He's had to deal with struggles since he was a tadpole; hopping through the ranks to get where he is - or, was - and with that, he's had his fair share of sticky situations. He's even dealt, albeit poorly at times, with the resident Megabunny and her litter. Twice. There's Kipo to thank, Jamack half sarcastically muses, pursing his lips as he fidgets with his clipped tie out of habit. Kipo to thank for his current state and newfound "soul searching". His arms cross over his chest in restraint of air quoting his own thoughts. He's <em>that</em> frustrated with this situation. It's Kipo, he blames, who's second-handedly responsible for this.</p><p>Jamack is in trouble and for the first time, it's not life-threatening. He's in trouble because he's caught feelings for <em>you</em>.</p><p>He takes slow, lazy breaths, fists clenched at his hips in a defensive stance as he takes the scenery of Las Vistas in. Currently, both of you are seeking shelter before nightfall. He would have <em>preferred</em> if you had both reached his private office by now. At least there was usually secluded enough to rest without being bothered. Not many other Mod Frogs knew about it, either. As a bonus, their search is far and wide for Kipo. The odds of you both getting discovered there are low at the moment.</p><p>You becoming more than just tag-along was not part of his original plan. He's caught feelings for you and now every time he steals a glance, his heart goes soft. It's why Jamack has ulterior motives for taking you there. Jamack has an embedded fact about you in his memory: you love water - a large bonus for him - and are a true sucker for scenery. He glances over his shoulder at you, eying your form.</p><p>He's a sucker for romance, and he wants his confession to you to be <em>perfect</em>. The problem is, you two need to get there first.</p><p>You've been an unlikely companion to him ever since you've both had a literal run-in. Your eyes land on the frog himself across the metal fire escape as you mess with the laces on your shoes. You've just missed him eyeing you up, but you swear you felt the gaze.</p><p>Jamack is fixing his tie again, a habit which you note comes when he's deep in thought. He's frozen in his spot, across from you and intently scouting. You slip on the eyelet loop of your boot. Cursing softly, you turn your focus fully downwards on your shoe, opting to unlace and start from the beginning. It's easy to let your mind wander to that first encounter with Jamack.</p><p>The earth-shaking steps of an enraged Megabunny were nothing new to brace for. Your mind was wandering back then, too, searching for a lost pencil through the shrubs and rubble under the overpass. Having that suit-clad frog drop from the crumbling highway above and successfully bash into you, however, was quite unexpected. Encountering a Mod Frog was bad news for a surface human like yourself. High off adrenaline, you took the first swing at him before he gained his bearings down in the shadowy underbrush.</p><p>In retrospect, that's what triggered your hours-long game of cat-and-mouse sparring. If you had taken the time to notice his disheveled appearance, or perhaps hear him out past the "Hey, now wait just a -" before you sucker-punched him into the dirt, the ex-Mod Frog would have probably talked something out with you. He's the one who struck the original deal of you aiding in locating a hiding spot from the Megabunny.</p><p>Jamack denies it, of course, and still threatens he'll give you to Scarlemagne for just dirtying his suit. A daily threat that holds no meaning now. The memory of the banter causes a smirk to tug at your lips. While Jamack and you still bicker and bite at each other, it's become more of an expected formality between the two of you at this point. Damn it all, you've begun relying on it.</p><p>Relying on his smug and confident attitude to brighten your dull, lonely days is now routine. As much as you denied it to yourself at first, Jamack barged his way into your thoughts in more ways than one. You stand, dusting your hands in loud claps and wiping them on your jeans.</p><p>Jamack turns at the noise, mustache and upper lip scrunched upwards at your display. "Seriously, just like that? On your clothes? What is wrong with you humans," he sneers.</p><p>"What, never heard of 'mudding' clothes'? Old stuff that's supposed to get dirty?" Your hands find themselves at the small of your back as you stretch backward, your telltale grin tugging across your face. You re-adjust your satchel so it's at your side again."You know, we might just look into investing in a pair for you." You can't help the suspense of getting him riled up. It's been unusually quiet between you and him today. "Like, I dunno, a throw-away suit maybe?"</p><p>Jamacks reaction is the closest thing to normal you've received all day. His left eye visibly twitches and he spins on his heels to meet your full gaze, hand on his hip. He doesn't miss a beat.</p><p>"OH, that is SO IT," he loudly states before looking back to the sunset townscape of Las Vistas. "I swear, doodle girl," he starts, eyes darting to your raised eyebrows and pursed lips at the nickname, "I'm leaving you up here for real this time. Found a spot down below and, well, <em>I</em> don't really feel like sharing!”</p><p>You suck in both lips and grind them between your teeth at his nickname for you. You know you’re reading into it, but the feeling in your stomach whenever he uses it? It’s addicting.</p><p>Jamack has his hand on the railing as he talks. In one fluid motion, he rolls his full weight onto his arm, lifting himself off of the ground. His freshly shined shoes land on the metal with a ring. He hoists himself to his feet, standing straight and peering at you over his shoulder. The ease of his movements has you in awe. The way the golden light of sunset reflects off of his suit, the smirk that graces his lips, and the gaze that temporarily meets yours? It has your heart melt. So much that Jamack's words don’t even register until his form is leaping off the metal frame and into the streets below. Something about a, “Hope you catch up?”</p><p>You’re caught fumbling for words as you rush to the railing, gripping at the strap of your satchel. For a second, you memorize the moment. The lighting, his swift, acrobatic movements, the definition of his muscles - a note you make for later, opting to save this for memory instead of adding yet another page of him to your sketchbook - it’s distracting enough to have you stumbling for the stairwell in pursuit of him.</p><p>Once your boots hit the ground, you find yourself following in the shadow of Jamack. He’s found a place for the night and is determined to reach it before sunset. With how fast he’s moving you’re having trouble keeping up. You’re adept at quick bursts of speed, but long-distance sprinting has you at a loss. Jamack, you believe, has to be upset by your suit comment. As he does best, he's acting up in response. More so than usual.</p><p>This thought weighs a bit in your chest. Jamack, currently, is the closest thing you’ve had to a friend in a long, long time. You'd like to dream that the feeling is mutual. It’s a harsh world for surface dwellers, especially humans. Loss and loneliness is something that comes all too easily, and after your initial encounter, you can no longer deny that Jamack has become what you perceive as a hopeless fixation. Hopeless in the sense that this is all one-sided.</p><p>You’ve indeed been filling your sketchbook with many pages of him as of late. The way his arms fill out the sleeves of his suit, the smug, confident looks he gives? When he straightens himself and rolls his weight to his toes, peering out to you? It’s all too much for your helpless romantic heart. A heart that pairs well with your imagination in concocting new poses and situations for him.</p><p>You’ve gotten over the thoughts of inter-species relations ever since you encountered a few couples of the like at Ratland. It gave you hope that maybe you, too, could have something romantic with Jamack, or more. A weird thought for an unusual world it seems. At the very least, these thoughts have added a few ‘suggestive’ pages to your sketchbook.</p><p>What now troubles you is that he’s been more distant. A part of you wonders if Jamack has added mind-reading to his list of mute abilities. After all, as soon as these pestering thoughts ventured to inter-species feelings of fantasy, he stopped his habits. He's taking extra precautions to stay further from you than usual. Sometimes when you pass by him, you note he's swelled up with a breath and is intently eyeing you down. Is he irritated by you, now? Your bottom lip pokes out as you pout. Weren't you making progress with him?</p><p>You’re so lost in your thoughts again that you don’t register the black-clad suit in front of you until it's too late. Running face-first into the chest of the being that occupies your thoughts, you use leftover momentum to spin around Jamack, hopping on one foot to regain the balance shift you've experienced. “Hey-he-hey! You just like to land out of nowhere, don't 'chya?” You open your arms at your sides and flash him a smirk. Smooth.</p><p>While the motive seems unclear to you, the way Jamack lurches upwards and pats down his suit isn’t just for the upkeep. You don't miss the way he swallows hard. You brace for some form of berating comment pointing out how you should at least watch your surroundings, but it never comes.</p><p>What does hum loud and true is the unmistakable howl of a wolf. Then another, and another howl join the chorus. The twisting uneasiness of your gut starts the exciting feel of survival anxiety. If there are that many ringing voices at once - you've counted at least twelve that have joined at this point - it's a pack hunt. You curse, looking about the shrubs and grass casted in shadow from the overpass you're both under.</p><p>"I know that noise anywhere," says Jamack, who's nerves are on fire.</p><p>The Knewton Wolves aren’t the easiest to deal with once the sun is down and visibility is little to none. You cast a worried glance to Jamack who seems to pick up on your thoughts. Having a duo fight where one is left blinded places you at an even larger disadvantage. Positioning so you’re back to back with Jamack, you peer around just in time to see the shadowy figures of Billions and Billions emerge from the underpass.</p><p>“Well well well, isn’t this the surprise,” states the first brother, adjusting the spectacles atop his snout, “You seem to just like playing the victim, don’t you, Jamack?”</p><p>“Out and in our traps again it seems.” The darker coated Billions brother speaks out, nose twitching as he picks up your scent. “What have we here, hm? That’s not Kipo, no,” he growls.</p><p>You take the opportunity to turn your back to the rounding wolves, choosing to face the alpha duo head-on next to Jamack. "Aw, hell," you murmur to him, "Hope they don't start rapping this encounter."</p><p>The smirk Jamack flashes in response pulls a proud smile from you.</p><p>“But another human.” Jamack finishes the wolfs statement. He stands confidently with folded arms, head tilted down towards his chest with a smug smile and closed eyes. He's taken a step forward and straightens his posture. “That’s right Knewton Wolves, I’m out here doing the job you can’t even do for Scarlemagne. How’s it feel, knowing you’re just disappointing him again?”</p><p>“A fat fib for such a small frog, Jamack,” snaps back the darker coated brother. “Word has it, you’re developed a soft spot for humans. Quite the pal, we've heard." His snout now points at you. "If you don't want her, that's fine. We'll be happy to take her off your hands after we take care of <em>missed dessert.</em>”</p><p>The Knewton wolf snarls through the end of his words, accompanied by intermittent laughter from the others. Jamack swallows, eyes open now and focused intently on the threat in front of him.</p><p>You know the sparse details of the events that transpired between Jamack and the Knewton wolves. While your companion stands tall, bantering with the alphas, you pick up on his clenched fists hidden in the folds of his arms, picking at the fabric of his sleeves. Clenched fists that, given the context clues, are due to more than just anger. Who wouldn't be intimidated by the situation?</p><p>The wolves circling the perimeter have started closing in during the conversation. Ideas are flying through your head at rapid-fire, your brain in overdrive contrasting the pros and cons. You're wringing out the strap of your bag for comfort.</p><p>Jamack doesn’t seem to be able to sweet-talk his way out of this one and the sun has already set. The cool air of nightfall is settling on you all fast, and soon you won’t be of any help. Hand sliding under the flap of your bag, you step around Jamack, placing yourself between you and the wolf brothers.</p><p>“That’s right Billions and Billions, I’m not Kipo. Pretty perceptive of the two scholars,” you mock-compliment. You've drawn their attention to you and not Jamack, who chokes back a protest at your actions. “Wanna know the difference?”</p><p>Your fingers grip at the glass vial in your bag. “Difference is, I’m a mid-twenties adult. I don’t do kid-fights.” The hand sneaking into your satchel finally whips out the vial of Humming Bommer powder you ‘acquired’ during your travels. With adrenaline fueling your movements, you launch the container directly upwards towards the overpass. The wolves recoil for a moment, watching the vial reach higher, but not quite to its intended target.</p><p>Crying out for Jamack, he follows your plan, tongue whipping out of his mouth and knocking it up further. It collides with a shattering cry, powder igniting on contact. The Initial explosion is more lit gunpowder than concrete destruction, which you’re thankful for. The bomb acts as a flash grenade, blinding the wolves with a shower of sparks. Unfortunately, it seems to send Jamack into a daze as well, who cries out and shields his eyes.</p><p>“C’mon!” you shout, prying his hand from his eyes and firmly holding it in your own. It’s only a few moments you both have at a head start. Your intended goal is to sprint further into the foliage under the overpass. You tug and Jamack stumbles afterward, who's blinking rapidly to clear his vision. “They won’t stay that way for long!”</p><p>As circumstances would have it, you both weren't running long. There is a loud, thundering crack resounding from the pillars supporting the weight of the overpass. The sound echoes briefly before it's carried on by a chorus of howls. Neither Jamack nor yourself can pinpoint the location of the damage over the ringing. The ground in front of you suddenly splits, too fast for either of you to react properly. Your momentum has you skidding your toes on the tufts of rough grass instead of your heels, keeping you off balance. The force of Jamack running into you knocks your breath out, your grip on his hand sending you both spiraling forward.</p><p>The impact of hard ground never comes. Instead, you're greeted with a rush of air as the crack in the dirt opens further into a crevice. Even between gasping for air, the rapidly decreasing size of the ground - now the ceiling, you suppose - stays at your vision. You're falling backward into the pit.</p><p>The sky gets smaller and the debris gets closer. You hear your name called out from over the thundering cracks of the concrete. It's hard, but you can see the shadow of a leaping figure ricocheting off large pieces of debris. Something warm and damp coils around your torso in a firm vice, pulling you towards the shadow.</p><p>"Jamack!" You shout to him, knowing at least you'll be out of the way of the chunks of rock and dirt. Your arms naturally extend out to him as he grips you tightly.</p><p>The sting of cold water droplets scraping at your face is your only warning before you both crash into the roaring waves below you. There's no cushion to the impact as you both sink into the water hard. It seems now, you're at the mercy of the current.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Tease in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Moonlight streams down in beams from the ceiling. It catches the stirred dust riding the invisible currents of air downwards below, settling softly on you. So far, it's the only light in the tunnel that allows your eyes to adjust. It's enough to make out the chunks of mud and concrete blocking your original entryway to the aqueduct, creating a makeshift wall cutting through the center. Streams of water dance through the cracks, reminding you of the force that lies just beyond it. Your vision is focused intently on the ceiling. You're still floating in a near stagnant current.</p><p>Serene moments like this last until you move, reminding you the length you fell. Everything hurts. You must have been tossed around more than you can count, if it took you that long to realise you're not standing up.</p><p>"We're lucky the current slowed down," you grumble, coughing up water from your throat as you roll to your side, then on your knees, then feet. The wall of debris dropped the water level significantly. Even standing, it stays soaking at your shins, slowing your progress to the edge of the trough.</p><p>The burn is still prominent in each breath you take as you locate the ledge. The rough wall texture scrapes at your elbows and the palms of your hands as you drag them to find the top. "Think the debris blocked the tunnel enough to give us a chance at a way out?"</p><p>"Or just prolongs the inevitable. Any minute now that mud could give way to a flood of water." Jamack has already found solid footing on the raised concrete path above you.</p><p>The echo of distant howling resounds through the ceiling. Both of you pause to stare at the moonlight until the howling ceases, leaving an unnerving silence.</p><p>You squint your eyes as you push yourself out of the water, taking the extra steps to prop yourself up on your knees before rising to your feet. If the strain is already teasing your muscles, you can wager how sore you're going to feel tomorrow.</p><p>"Yeah, guess the clock is ticking huh?" You pop your back with a groan, looking at your surroundings. "Hey, quick thinking with your tongue back there."</p><p>Jamack turns, but his silhouette is all you can make out. The white of his undershirt contrasts just enough for you to tell he's facing you. "Seriously, both times. If you didn't hit that vial?" A 'shhh' passes from your lips, dragging through to the next word, "Shoot, it would've landed on us directly. Saved our asses."</p><p>"You're just lucky it didn't blow my tongue off!" Jamack snaps, and you wince. Yep, you weren't reading the room wrong; he's pissed. "Seriously, what kind of stunt was that? Did you even think it through?"</p><p>You click your tongue at your cheek, clapping your hands together. "Uh, did actually. Planned on the flash at least blinding them for a bit. Night vision must suck with flashbangs." You grind your teeth and suck air through in an uncomfortable smile, injecting a quick apology for Jamack. His eyes must be sore, too. "Didn't think that there was a service tunnel down here."</p><p>If you can't get out through the landfall, you reason it's better to search for somewhere else. Besides, there has to be a few manhole covers out and about somewhere. Right?</p><p>Beginning the journey down the tunnel, you take the first few steps past Jamack. "Really, though, thank you. I didn't mean for, well, this," you swivel to face Jamack in step, shifting to walk backward as your arms gesture to the new divot in Las Vistas scenery, "But your quick thinking saved my ass back there during the fall. Really, thanks."</p><p>"Yeah well, pull any more stunts like that and you can count me saving you out. I'm not a punch card here. I <em>like</em> living." Jamack studies you when you turn to leave. He doesn’t follow for a pace.</p><p>He has you chuckling at that. Kipo, while talking a mile a minute, had told you prior about the crazy stunts he's done in trying to catch her. Her and Dave especially gushed about how they fought side by side with him multiple times. You decide it's best to not press the matter right now.</p><p>You'll definitely be putting a pin in that for later.</p><p>When he finally does catch up to you, the walk stays in comfortable silence. It's intermittently broken by Jamack voicing an obstacle in your path, aiding you in missing it. Each time you quickly defend that, you <em>had</em> seen it, albeit sometimes too late, causing a knick in your step. The directions become autonomous for him, enough to let his mind wander.</p><p>Jamack has kept the prior events on replay. You colliding with his chest had his attention at first, but when you pushed between himself and the Knewton Wolves? It's something he's going to remember for a long time. He had a smooth-talking plan he was going to stick with to at least open up an escape route. Hell, he's fought his way while being outnumbered before and came back just fine. Accounting for you, though?</p><p>Humans don't function too well at night with the lack of visibility, something he was hoping to avoid by making a nice camp like always. He even lets you fall asleep first under the guise of him being primarily nocturnal; a fib which you were always tired enough to buy into. Jamack still can't deal with the thought of you finding out that all of the trouble he goes through? It's because he's sticking his neck out to keep you safe. His heart lurches at the thought of joining your side, just to lie down and relax for once, him curled up to your sleeping form.</p><p>His <em>human partner.</em></p><p>Jamack shakes his head to distance himself from the intrusive thought. He can feel his vocal cords swelling. Damn biology, he sneers; the last thing he needs right now is you hearing him chirp.</p><p>"Hey," he voices, tugging at the sleeve of his suit, "Why'd you do that back there?"</p><p>"Do what?"</p><p>"Get between the wolves and I. You didn't have any reason to place yourself there." He guffs, keeping eyes on you as your movements slow. "That was a pretty big gamble you took."</p><p>His inquiry catches you off guard. You hum in thought, delaying the inevitable conversation. "Dunno, I think the bigger gamble was me nearly blowing your tongue off."</p><p>"Seriously," Jamack presses. "You just threw yourself in danger. You don't have a death wish too, do you?"</p><p>You stop, pacing over to the edge of the pathway. "I just," you begin, "Well, I know the history - at least part of it - you have with them. It doesn’t seem fair for you to face things on your own, you know? I mean, that's the motto I live by: weak or strong, I'll hold your arm!" You hope the self-satisfied grin you flash him doesn’t fall flat. "What's hard to get about it?"</p><p>The question, while worded actively, is punctuated by your innocent tone. Still, Jamack finds himself on guard at the probe. "I get the feeling if I let that go, you'll pester me to talk?" He won't give you the chance to answer. Jamack raises his hand to the slope of his nose ridge, massaging up to the center between his eyes. "You humans and airing your feelings. I mean, who does that?" He grumbles.</p><p>"It's everyone for themselves up here," Jamack continues.. Every pack, gang - <em>frog</em> - for himself. Putting your own safety on the line for someone else is unheard of, especially in Mod Frog culture. Grand gestures like yours end up killing off the pond quicker, so it's instilled early on in every tadpole to keep your nose out of everyone else's trouble. "Look, I'm an adult too. I know out here it's not "kid-friendly"." The air quotes he makes with his fingers are currently lost on you in the dark, but the punctuation of your own words isn't.</p><p>"Hey!" You defend, "I thought that was a pretty good line." Your bottom lip juts out to punctuate the statement.</p><p>"Yeah, if you're twelve," he bites, hands at his hips. The pout seems to catch his attention and he pauses. You're not looking at him. In correction, you are looking in his direction, but not meeting his eyes. "Uhm, over here."</p><p>"I'm not looking at you?" Your head jerks around in tiny movements trying to pinpoint the exact location of his face. The confidence you had to guide the two of you onwards had been diminishing with every step you took. That comment, though? It serves as a reminder to you both that Jamack usually is keeping watch while you're asleep. You've never been in a pitch black situation like this before. Not with someone else, at least. "It's darker than usual, down here. Haven't been able to see a thing for a bit." You admit.</p><p>"I think I did well getting us this far, though!" You cheerfully defend. Spinning on your heels, you opt to continue your venture in the original direction. You barely make it a few feet before your dominant foot sinks into the darkness, falling through the air. "Woah-!" The lack of contact with the path sends you falling forward, waving your arms to slow the fall.</p><p>"Watch it, there's a turn - !" Sputters Jamack. It's too late, though, and he's greeted with a splash in response. Though he sounds concerned, he hasn't moved from his spot.</p><p>"Yeah, okay. Figured you'd fall off the edge," he mutters. He follows your footsteps to the water, searching for you. "Hey!" He calls out. The water is deeper here, it seems, as you've disappeared. "You learned to swim, right?"</p><p>Your head resurfaces just as he starts the question. You're sputtering to get the water out of your nose, the burn prominent all the way through your nasal cavity now. "Of course I can," you’re interrupted by a cough, rubbing the water from your eyes, "I just can't see, dammit."</p><p>"I'm a frog with impeccable night vision. <em>I</em> can see that," he teases.</p><p>The joke isn't lost on you. Shooting him a stern look, you follow his voice to the ledge, fingers gripping at the concrete. "Hey," you huff, finding trouble lifting yourself without the footing, "You wanna help?" Your dominant arm extends to the darkness, brushing inches below the edge. The aid never comes, though, and you are left below in the water. "Jamack? Help?" You press, listening to the tapping of his shoes. The more aggressively you shake your arm, the louder the water sloshes. "Jamack. Dude."</p><p><em>What</em> is going on with him?</p><p>His sigh is exaggerated. Jamack debates on letting you find the stairs further down the tunnel. After all, it would have to be better than the twisting in his gut at the thought of lending you his arm.</p><p>He's done so well so far to keep his distance from you, building up for the big, romantic moment. Yet these last few hours? You've both bumped and collided more than he’s intentionally touched you in the last month. Seeing you struggle to just lift yourself, though, keeps a tense feeling in his ribcage. It's as good a time as any, he supposes.</p><p>"Alright, fine."</p><p>You're expecting his tongue to catch you like a vice again. After all, he uses it as an extension of his own hands. It comes as a surprise when his hand has locked further down your arm. You grasp at his forearm in response, sucking your tongue at the feeling of his underlying muscle. He lifts you from the water easily, and then further to your feet, despite your efforts to crawl out on your knees. You take your place in front of him, locking up when you feel his hands at the sides of your arms, brushing down to smooth out your shirt. "There," he murmurs.</p><p>You're searching the darkness in vain hope to catch some glimpse of him. You have to be blushing, you're sure. "Thanks," you clear your throat. "Guess you're in the lead again, yeah?"</p><p>Your breathing deepens when he slides his hand into your own, pulling you along with him. "O-oh," you whimper out, and god, Jamack's heart is in this throat at the sound.</p><p>He has a sudden urge to have you make it again.</p><p>The walk continues in yet another silence, one you're sure has to be anger. Why else would he just tug you along like this? After all, he took his sweet time lifting you out of the channel. Man, you're an idiot. You joke all the time that you love to play the role of a fool, but with Jamack? You're finding yourself living it out lately. Since you can't wring your wrist or out of anxious habit, your fingers grip harder at Jamacks hand.</p><p>You can't believe you just fell into the water <em>again</em>.</p><p>The blackness around you isn't helping, either. Something all too anxiously familiar has you grinding your teeth. There's always a backup, a way out of a situation, a way to escape - here, in the moment, you're relying totally on Jamack. You really hate the dark.</p><p>Jamack picks up on your trembling easily. He casts a look over his shoulder, studying the uneasiness on your features. "What, cold now?"</p><p>You tilt your head up with a 'hm' before registering the question. "Yeah. Yeah, a bit, actually."</p><p>Are you cold? The thought hadn't crossed your mind until he brought it up. Yes, you suppose you are. You're still soaked, clothes rubbing uncomfortably as you walk. An anxiety spike didn't help with your shaking, either. "Aren't you? You fell in, too, earlier."</p><p>"Yeah, earlier." He rolls his shoulders, lifting your hand slightly at the motion. "But I'm not cold. These suits aren't just for show, you know."</p><p>"Bet it doesn't chafe, either," you say under your breath.</p><p>Sure enough, another opening presents itself to Jamack. Always one for an opportunity of advancement, he releases your hand. "Alright, off then."</p><p>"<em>Excuse</em> me?"</p><p>"That shirt. You said it's chafing right? So off with it." Despite how nonchalantly he says it, Jamack’s fingers are trembling as he undoes the buttons of his own jacket. This is so, so out of his comfort zone, he thinks. You're special, he rationalizes, and he's not going to waste the weeks of building up to showing you he cares. Taking a small opportunity now shouldn't be too bad, right? "Besides, you'll ruin it if you wear it drenched."</p><p>Right now, the only solace he has is that you can’t perceive a thing he’s doing. He thanks his own ability to see in the dark.</p><p>What sends a spike of eagerness into him is how you obey. Button after button comes undone before you peel off the checkered shirt, doing your best to keep your chest and torso covered with the draping fabric. Your bra underneath is soaked as well. You can't believe you're actually doing this. You're not sure if he's implying <em>everything</em>, and you'll be damned if you take your bra off in front of him. You give him an unsure stare, chewing at your bottom lip.</p><p>One thing he's admired about you is the general upkeep of your appearance. You keep yourself clean and well dressed - you even smell better than any human he's met. Seeing your clothes disheveled like that, wet, and still trying to cling to your form? The first thought of unprofessionalism is overshadowed by the adrenaline hammering through him.You, his crush, half dressed in front of him, in the dark, where you can't see.</p><p>What an opportunity <em>indeed</em>.</p><p>You wait in silent anticipation. You hear the rustling of clothes before a rather dry and slightly warmed fabric is draped over your shoulders. "Careful with it," Jamack warns as you push your arms through. Even though your shoulder pops out of the tear on the right arm, and you can feel the air, the soft quality of the fabric is way too comfortable.</p><p>You're gripping at the jacket, closing it around you quickly and dropping your shirt to your feet in the process. You already feel warmer, at least. You start messing with the first button, intending to appear at least somewhat decent, before you realise what you're wearing.</p><p>"Wait, seriously Jamack? This - it's your jacket? Your <em>suit</em> jacket?" You're wagering a gesture from him is a great deal more than what it means for humans. Anyone else, really. Wearing a Mod Frogs personal suit - who ever gets to do that and live? Inferring exactly what he's implying with this action is difficult.</p><p>"Yeah, yeah just, promise not to tell anyone about this. Alright?" He warns. "Seriously. No one."</p><p>"Promise," you reply. You're fumbling with the buttons in the dark again as Jamack backs you into the wall. "Alright, here," he sighs, "If you're wearing it, you're gonna do it right. Let me."</p><p>You're trying hard to control your breathing as you bump against the concrete at your back. It's trouble convincing yourself that this is really happening. Once Jamacks fingers are grazing your collarbone to flatten out the lapel, you realize the situation you're in.</p><p>You didn't have a chance at a reply. Well, you did have the opportunity, yet with being in such close proximity to Jamack? You weren't brave enough to say anything.</p><p>His stocky build has him practically brushing against you with every small movement. Your shoulders rise up as you shrink into yourself, eyes cast up and chin tucked down as you avoid bumping your head against his chin. You're giving him an adorable little innocent stare.</p><p>Jamack takes pride in remaining as gentlemanly as possible, avoiding direct physical contact with your chest. He's not uncultured; he's aware of the differences between mammals and amphibians. A few of those facts he's had to study up on once he met you, popping a question here and there. So, he's going to show as much respect as possible.</p><p>His eyes, though, stay glued to the lace trim of your bra showing through the too-low cut of his jacket. What's a pretty little article of clothing like that doing hidden? He'd sure love to see it for himself.</p><p>"Yeah?" Your voice quivers somewhere between anticipation and embarrassment to his murmurs.</p><p>Jamack isn't sure what part of that he just said aloud. Starting back to life, he finishes the last few buttons, pulling back to look at you, automatically waiting for rejection. He's taking in your appearance in a suit - <em>his suit</em> - and can't help but grin like a madfrog through what he's sure is a permanent flush at this point. His hands are off you now, fingertips patting at each other in front of his chest. Oh, this is an obscene sight he's going to be referencing the next time he's by himself.</p><p>The suit jacket is obviously oversized for you and hanging at your mid thigh - one not torn would also be ideal - but the look is quite becoming on you. Most especially because it's his suit hugging your frame. Your eyes lift, unknowingly meeting his, and he can feel himself swelling in more than just his chest.</p><p>You're at a loss and still pressed against the wall. The comment Jamack made floored you and has you racing for any sort of response. You know very well there was no way he'd be talking about anything else but what's poking through his jacket. The cloth of his suit is doing a good job at warming you, however. You find yourself settling into it quite nicely.</p><p>He doesn't miss the way you grip the cloth closer to you. "You know, if you like it that much," Jamack speaks up, stepping towards you as if magnetized, "I might be able to pull a few strings to locate something similar for you."</p><p>His foot is nudging between yours and his knee is now brushing the front of your mid thighs. Even though Jamack naturally runs a few degrees cooler than you, there's a heat emitting from him that you can feel across your face. A low hum resounds from deep in your throat as you pick up on the presence of his arms at either side of your head, palms pressed to the wall and trapping you in.</p><p>Once again you're both stuck in a pleasantly awkward angle where Jamack is dangerously close to being flush against you. Due to the bulk of his upper frame, you keep to scarce, precise movements, shyly avoiding contact. It doesn't stop your forehead from bumping at what you believe is his chin and collarbone. You visibly swallow.</p><p>"Ye-yeah, I'd like that," you reply. "You 'nd I could be one hell of a good looking duo. I think I'd be sexier." Comedy masks your flirtatious - and nervous - intent. Were you reading this right?</p><p><em>Flirting</em>?</p><p>You can feel the breath from Jamack puffing across your face. Your head is naturally tilting off to the side and he takes no hesitation in sliding his right next to yours. The rougher, bumpy texture of his darker greenkin brushes from your temples then down to your shoulder.</p><p>"You'd look absolutely gorgeous," he enunciates, corners of his lips tickling at the edge of your ear.</p><p>Goosebumps pepper at your skin and you're trying hard not to clamp your thighs around his leg. That would only serve as more friction. Some much, <em>much</em> wanted friction that you've been <em>craving</em>. You're just hoping he can't feel the heat building between them. "Hey, Jamack," you try, wanting to make a move in response. He's done a very good job at catching you off guard, and you're a fan of leverage. "Your tie is a bit crooked."</p><p>Jamack knows you can't see it, but he can feel how loose it's hanging about his neck despite tightening it earlier. There's an overpowering urge to rip away from you and grip at the fabric. After all, how can he be the suave one here if he's not at his best. Jamack finds self conscious thoughts taking over and parts his lips to throw blame at you for interrupting the moment.</p><p>That is, until your hands are at his chest. You're tugging at the black fabric until the knot comes undone. If his Jamack's face wasn't already red, it sure is now. "Ah," he forces out instead of words. Even under the guise of night, he can't meet your eyes, instead staring intently at the wall. "You uh, dont…" He swallows hard at the lump in his throat, intently focusing on every brush of your fingers. You're close to his neck, acting so delicate and gently, you're <em>fixing his tie</em> - it's all too much for his heart.</p><p>The simple yet sweet gesture leaves you permanently cemented in his brain as a romantic partner, no questions asked. It's a bold move on your part. He''s fairly certain that you're blissfully unaware of the courting symbolism this holds.</p><p>"Jamack," you start, finally finding your voice.</p><p>"What's that?" He asks, voice trying to mimic a focused tone through the breaking. You half inhale, fully ready to blurt out your question. Could he know what you were about to ask?</p><p>"No, seriously. On the wall." There's a pause from the both of you.</p><p>You roll out from his arms at his distraction, fixing your hair and adjusting your satchel strap under the suit. Jamack makes a noise of protest, upper lip twitching and eyes widening. Clearing his throat, he rights himself, readjusting his tie. You did an excellent job of tying it in the dark, but the comfort of wringing the silky fabric always helps Jamack.</p><p>Alright, so you might be taking the opportunity of relief in stride. You cannot believe that just happened, feelings tugging you towards Jamack and away from him at the same time. "Something cool?" Your voice cracks.</p><p>Jamack pretends not to notice. "On the wall. Some sort of chiseled in numbers and letters?" He questions to no-one in particular.</p><p>"Numbers?" You murmur, realizing the familiar uneasiness is more than just anxiety. "Oh!" Memories come flooding back to you in a rush. "Hey - yeah - sorry," you sputter out, "I mean, are they like numbers and letters? With a doodle?" You eagerly step towards the wall, fingers brushing until you find the ingrained divots. "Yes, yes I knew it!" You shout.</p><p>Jamack, alarmed by your sudden outburst, steps out of your way. "You've been down here before, doodle girl?"</p><p>"Yeah!" You flash a grin in his direction. "I used to hole up in a spot down here back in the day. We got a place to stay for the night!" You cheer, keeping eyes at Jamack. "Okay, so, I might be able to get us there. You just need to read out the scratches as you see them, yeah?"</p><p>You get a huff in response from your crush. "We're basing this on a 'might' and some doodles?" He deadpans. "Fine."</p><p>His hand is at yours again and you eagerly take it. Stepping up quicker, you snake your arms around Jamack's waist, pulling yourself tightly to his back in a hug. "Thanks Jamack," you murmur.</p><p>Jamacks heart lurches to his throat, hand gripping yours numbing tight when you let go. Your giggle spurs him on and he marches onward in confident steps, dragging you behind him. A beaming smile is stretched across his features, eyes wide. If only you knew the effect you just had over him.</p><p>"Hey, Jamack? You know, my pants are chafing, too," you jest.</p><p>"Don't push it."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Intimate Confessions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"So, this used to be your little 'burrow' then, huh?" Jamack questions, back turned to you out of respect. You're finally getting to strip into something not drenched, and he takes the scenery of your room in. The fluorescent, dull lighting is a nice change from the service tunnel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's small, that's for sure, and definitely hasn't had any visitors in a long while. The area is lined with repurposed shelves and wood for furniture. Scattered collections of knick-knacks and tools lie in a sheen of dust around the room. You're over by the concrete protrusion that's covered in blankets and a single, tattered pillow for a bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack leans forward to the books and knick-knacks lining the shelves. His fingers dust across the top, settling upon a photo depicting a group of people. Lifting it for examination, Jamack realizes he vaguely recognizes the youngest human in the front. "Were you a burrow girl too? Got any extended family I should learn about?" He straightens himself and waves the photo for emphasis, forgetting for a moment what you've asked him to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can feel his gaze land on your form, Jamack's focus is that intense. So much for some privacy for changing. Returning his gaze over your shoulder, you manage your best stern look through your shyness. A peeping tom crush may just be your thing, judging by the heat in your thighs. That look he gave you wasn't helping calm you down at all. Though, you'd be caught dead before letting Jamack know he's got that easy of an influence on you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He already knows this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack makes a warbled noise in his throat, whipping his attention back to the shelf once his eyes leave yours. "Yeah, that was a longshot at some redemption," he deters. Inwardly, he's cursing himself for forgetting he doesn't have the advantage of darkness. It was one thing in the tunnel when you couldn't see him, but now? Once again he finds himself blushing. "Why here, of all places? I mean, you don't exactly have the best navigational sense. Especially with it being blacker than your poor little eyes can handle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really wanna know?" You start. A bonding experience other than what happened in the tunnel isn't what you expected. Maybe that was just empty teasing to keep you going. You're desperate though, for someone to hear you out. Maybe voicing your story out loud can add concrete reasons why you've become so infatuated with Jamack. Possibly it'd provide a segway into discussing what happened in the tunnel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope," he deadpans. "Tried that out with Kipo, once, and if I ever do it again, I'm gonna need a drink." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You chew your cheek, moving past him, now fully clothed in shorts and a shirt a year or two smaller than your current clothing size. Jamack looks back to your still drying clothes on the line. His eyes pick out the same lace from earlier, nearly hidden behind your checkered shirt. He purses his lips, then looks to the haphazardly bolted plywood board on the wall where you've stretched out his jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Funny you should mention that. A drink-" your voice strains, hooking your fingers under the loose panel next to his suit and straining. A little bit of show off isn't beneath you. God, you hope he gets a nice view of what you can do; not that you need to remind him. With a tear, the board comes off, revealing two rather dusty bottles of well-expired alcohol. Recoiling a foot back from the force, shoulders bumping his chest, you peer up at him with a proud grin. "-is just what I have." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That grin. Oh that grin of yours, the heartwarming smile that's genuine in its enthusiasm, always gets Jamack. It's something not seen inside of the Mod Frog community, open emotions like that. At the most, it's grins of smug malice or adrenaline during assignments. He holds your attention, heart in his throat at your proximity. Straining to keep his breathing down to normal levels, he flashes you a lopsided smile. "Well then, now you're talking my language."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His chest brushes past you as he purposefully reaches for the bottles over your shoulder. Deftly grabbing them both in one hand, he brings them back, blowing the slight layer of dust back towards the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You cough at the motion and wave a hand in front of your face. You suppose it's nice that he's still teasing. Clearing your throat, you decide on some glassware. "It's uh, some kind of brandy and a thing of vodka. Heard these were all the rage for hard drinkers, back when, well, ya'know." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling your shoulders for emphasis, you slide two cups of heavy plastic across a few old 'TV' trays taped together in an old do-it-yourself version of a table. Jamack joins you, placing the two glass bottles in the center. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Didn't place you as the hard-drinking type. Or, a drinker at all, really. I'll take some of that brandy." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your eyes are glued to Jamack moving in his dress shirt. Sure, the jacket might be tattered, but that white-collared fabric underneath remained untouched this whole time. It only takes seconds for him to roll his sleeves past his elbows, a well-ingrained maneuver of habit, you're certain. Still, the moment has you distracted enough to nearly miss pouring Jamacks drink in the red plastic cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, 'm not really, I guess?" You sheepishly admit. "I mean hey, I'm smaller than you, and the last time I had any of this stuff was years ago. Three drinks in and I'm gone. Bet." You point a finger gun at him for awkward emphasis, sticking your tongue. At his silence, you purse your lips, opting to continue the arm motion towards his glass, pushing it closer to him. "But, it sounds -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Damn good just about now," Jamack finishes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can't help but have your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you take a seat across him on the floor. "Ooo, Jamack!" You tease, "Swearing? From such a classy frog? Never thought I'd hear the day."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack tilts his head back, downing the whole drink in one go, a move that would take you a few tries. "What, I'm around kids all day! Do you think I'm gonna be the one who teaches Kipo her first swear? I'd be out cold from her crazy friend’s deathstalker."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He elicits a hearty, genuine laugh from you, one that brightens the look in his eyes and puffs out his chest. "Yeah, Mr. Villainous over here, out doing dastardly deeds like teaching little kids swears." You mirror his way of drinking, sputtering and coughing from the aftermath of alcoholic burn. "I'd just blame Dave."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your joke gets a loud 'hah' emitted from the back of his throat. "Mr. Villainous </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frog</span>
  </em>
  <span> to you, thank you very much." He's already finishing his second glass, slamming the cup down with a sigh. "You wanna keep staring or actually try to handle your drinks?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can feel the pink dance across your face. Hopefully, he mistakes it for the alcohol and not the embarrassment of getting caught. A breathy 'whoops' slips past your lips and you lean forward, elbows resting at the table. "Well, I just never see you without the jacket, 's all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack shoots you a warning glare as you continue. "Hey hey, not complaining here. You look good in your suit, and good without it." You chew your bottom lip, avoiding eye contact. These drinks are giving you the confidence boost you need. "Especially with the sleeves rolled up. You look real nice like that."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don't miss the way his next drink sits heavy in his throat. Compliments are rare these days. Even back in Mod Frog society, Jamack never received them from his peers. Everything had to remain professional, the only bending of that rule was the quips and jests to knock others down. He can't get his breath back as fast as he wants, focusing instead on your hands around your cup. Then your arms. Then your - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head, redirecting the conversation.  "Alright, so tell me. Out with it, sad backstory and everything."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hm?" You voice. "Wait, seriously? You wanted to hear that?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, yeah, deals a deal. You got me something to drink," he holds up his glass and leans back in his spot on the ground, propping himself up by his other arm. "I get the sob story. Shoot." He swirls the drink in his hand before taking a paced swig of the brandy. His arm rests over his bent knee, giving you a rather lewd and uncharacteristic display of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the alcohol was affecting him more than he's let on. Or, maybe you're reading into this too much. Either way, you commit the sight to memory and lean against the wall behind you for support. You sigh, take another large, burning swallow of the alcohol, and slam the glass to the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," you start with a cough. "I used to be part of a group - er, pack," you correct, scrunching your nose at the terminology. "Thought I had a good place there, too. The group needed me, and well, I kept everyone going. Inner relations 'n all that. Damn good at it, too!" You punctuate the proud statement with a motion of your cup. "And well, as things do, they started going south."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our self-appointed alpha - the center girl in the photo, in the yellow of the photo? - started making some sketchy decisions. Putting us in more 'n more danger." You tighten the grip on your glass, eyes cast downward to relive the memory. "Oftentimes too, for little 'ta no payout. So, I started digging. It was all just a fun little side project until I found she was dealing with Scarlemagne." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack squints his eyes as he focuses more on you, fingers absent-minded tapping his glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You opt to continue. "Our leader just disappeared one day, 'n left us. I took over to patch us together. I knew everyone - dynamics, fighting style, matchups - you name it. I had every move mapped out," you pause, "Until I didn't. People started to disappear, and outta the blue, our alpha returns. Blaming me and tossing evidence left and right. And, like an idiot, I tried to preserve her reputation."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You hadn't told them about her dealings with Scarlemaigne," Jamack elaborates, absent-minded flipping through one of the scattered books. He just can't sit still, you gripe to yourself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. They loved her, the knowledge would've broke their hearts." Another swig of alcohol goes down easier this time, the tingling burns now a pleasant comfort in your stomach. "So, no one believes me. I get blamed, and - the guy to the right of me in that photo, in the mask? - my only supporter gets put down. I get tossed down here, locked in the dark to fend for myself to have an example made outta me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Smart move from the alpha," states Jamack. "Having a conflicting alpha with evidence against you doesn't bode well for their reputation. Especially if you got a following." He licks at his thumb, turning the page of the book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack blatantly alluding to him acknowledging you as an alpha is lost in your current state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks for the support," you reply with heavily laced sarcasm. Still, you silently agree, head leaning back to knock against the wall in a stretch. "Yeah, 'n they're probably all caught by Scarlemaigne by now." You snicker, then chuckle at your luck. "And I'm still not caught yet!" you cheer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack doesn't reply. You've got a bit more in common with him than he thought and he can't decide which one of you had it harder. He did some pretty drastic things when all he knew was ripped away. He's never really belonged somewhere, fighting even as a tadpole to be a part of the Mod Frog company, but you? "You felt like you belonged," he voices his thoughts. You probably believed it at one point, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence that follows weighs heavy in the air. It makes you feel guilty, bringing down the mood. A little vulnerable, too, if you are being honest. You always try to be so upbeat and happy. Dealing with stuff like this doesn't happen, and though Jamack isn't chock full of advice, it helps to air out your thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ah, shit." You lean from the wall, alcohol adding a spin to your vision. "Listen, sorry to bring this all down, we were getting some relaxing time and - " at this point, you've finally focused back on Jamack and his position. He's sitting upright, both hands on the book you heard before, head scrunched down into his shoulders. " - I was hoping to talk about…." You trail off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're puzzled, to say the least. There's been a lot of blushing between the two of you recently. You've been blaming the liquor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one that is steadily growing across Jamack's cheeks, however, is quite obviously from embarrassment. He finally looks to you, inhaling long and slow once you meet his wide blown gaze. "What?" You ask, pushing from the wall and leaning forward, eyes darting around his features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes longer than you'd like to admit to figure out what's going on. Gripped tightly in his hands is your sketchbook. Your current sketchbook, not one from the shelf. Your current sketchbook that has images of Jamack plastered over quite a few pages. Way too many pages to be dismissed as just random drawings. Your eyes widen and you suck in both your lips between your teeth, inhaling just as slow as Jamack had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worst-case scenario happening? Check. Would you be able to normally bullshit an excuse? Check. Can you do that under the influence of alcohol? Not a chance. </span>
</p><p><span>Your heart is threatening to hammer through your chest as you swear you somehow pale and blush at the same time. Your ears feel like they're on fire and your foot started tapping impatiently at some point - you can't discern when - and you're searching for an opening. Jamack swallows hard and moves to loosen his tie from his throat, a tell for anxiousness. You make your move. You lurch forward with an aggressive yet slurred together "</span><em><span>give</span></em> <em><span>me</span></em> <em><span>that</span></em><span>", nearly knocking the table onto Jamack. Your movements are predictable, however, and Jamack is already at his feet.</span></p><p>
  <span>You follow in suit, pushing yourself to your feet with head-spinning force as you stomp closer to him. "Holy shit, this whole time I've been venting, you've been going through my things?" You feign anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This whole time you've been obsessively studying me?!" He bites back, turning another page. "There's loads of me in here - what kind of freak are you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, yeah, no, so - it's not what you think -" you're feebly trying to defend yourself while trying to grab the book out of his hands. Try as you will, Jamack stands a solid five-foot-four, and you're barely pushing five foot. That's being generous to yourself, your boots add an inch to your height. He's short, but still holds an advantage to you. "- I mean, I told you you looked good right? I was just doing some pose studies and -" you take the opening and leap towards him for the book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Jamack has to do is keep holding your sketchbook </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> above his head. You're left frantically jumping and maneuvering around him to try and knock him off balance. A few times your fingers brush the book cover, only to have him swing around and lift the book even higher. The height difference is seriously not fair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When did you even have the time to do this?" Jamack is somewhere between exasperated and elated. He can’t decide between what feeling he should choose out of the rollercoaster of emotions happening in his brain, so he's acting them all out at random. Page after page is just him. Elaborate sketches and of day to day poses, detailed encounters while on the surface and - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You've been babbling and you know it. Right at this second, you've been elaborating on how they're a mix between a journal and character studies, so of course, he's in there a lot! So, maybe you haven't been scouting when you switch to keep watch at camp when he's asleep, is that bad? You were staying awake! Isn't that the base point? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's rope?" Jamack cries out, hopping an inch on his toes. "When did these," he looks to you, then flips the book so you both can look at the pages he's referencing, "Even happen?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, God, there's no saving you from that. Any rambled argument you were trying to create dies in your throat as he adamantly gestures to the pages in question with an open palm. You know where this is leading up to. Those are where you let your mind wander and desperation for some form of intimacy take over. Suggestive imagery of Jamack lines the pages, poses of him in chairs, on all fours, shirt unbuttoned and disheveled looking: these are all leading up to the big imagination you have. The one that decorated the next page in rather lewd imagery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm warning you, Jamack," you enunciate, "Do. Not. Turn. That. Page." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Jamack is not one to take no for an answer. Conflict is who he is. You've stopped batting at the book like an enraged Timbercat for now, he's taking this opportunity as it presents itself. In sheer defiance, he flips the page and brings the book closer to his face in disbelief. Then, for Jamack, the unthinkable happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack, filled with conflicting and swirling emotions, finally succumbs to his alcoholic addled biology. It started as a meek chirp before his throat briefly ballooned into a full croak, knocking the book from his hands and out towards the ground. The action had you scrambling for the sketchbook, though your feet don’t match up with your thoughts. A quick half-step sends the book spinning towards Jamack, through his legs, landing at the wall behind you two with an audible ‘thump’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack is patting at the inflated vocal sack on his throat to aid in its quick deflation. He’s practically hyperventilating at this point. It’s a stare off once he regains his composure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You,” he starts, pointing for emphasis. “Are one sick, lewd - no, perverted  - individual! This whole time you’ve been peering at me like that? Huh? How long have you been thinking about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, and you haven’t thought of me that way?” The words are past your lips before you can stop them. You’re chewing your cheek again, realizing that it’s now been put into the air and there’s no going back. You kick backward and toss your head back, palms plastered over your face as you growl in frustration. “I like you, ‘ya idiot! Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re joking,” Jamak is in disbelief. "You're doing one of your dumb human jokes." There has to be a catch to this somewhere.  “Is this about back in the tunnel? That was a one-off! A-a-a tease! I mean, not a tease, but showing you I care - I mean respect - you enough to not let you freeze on me!” he exhales in a whistle, rubbing a hand across the slick of his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, is it so weird to believe that I like you?” you ask. “Not gonna lie, kinda feeling like an idiot over here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yes, it is. Things like this don’t just happen to me, okay? I just…” Jamack trails off, turning to the side to stare down at the still open sketchbook on the ground. Yes, he’s been falling for you and hard. Years of emotional isolation and Mod Frog culture has taught him that out here, on the surface? You have to fight for something you want, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>earn</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. The idea of having someone be interested in him without Jamack having to </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove</span>
  </em>
  <span> himself worthy is such a foreign concept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humans make things so stupidly topsy-turvy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s weird, you’re a human! I’m a Mod Frog. I mean, I’m supposed to be hunting you here! Trading you in for riches and glory.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You don’t have to remind him of the current standings he has with his former employers. It’s a strain to hear, but you swear he just mentioned something about fucking a human. “Huh? Care to repeat that? Put me down more? You've been standoffish the last month. Glaring at me, even!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"Standoffish</span>
  </em>
  <span>?" He parrots. Jamack's hand is at the back of his neck. Well, so much for standard Mod Frog courting. So much for the plans he had to woo you romantically. This came on too fast for Jamack, and he's caught off guard. The cultural species differences are leaving him at a bit more of a disadvantage as well. "Ever heard of displaying behavior?"</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>"What, like courting hab-" you stop yourself, fixated on the raised eyebrows and gesture jamack gives you. Realization hits you hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. That wasn't him being distant. The puffing his chest out, the days where he wouldn't even come close to within a few feet of you, the sparring </span>
  <em>
    <span>without</span>
  </em>
  <span> using his tongue, was Jamack trying to -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yep!" He shouts, irritated at your slow processing. "I knew I'd ruin it," he gripes. "I mean, I know about the differences in tongues for you humans, so I stopped using mine near you! I let you sleep at night instead of on my time and I watch out for you. I thought you'd pick up on…" Jamack trails off, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. He changed so much to have you notice him. He's distanced himself to ensure his physical affections would actually</span>
  <em>
    <span> mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>something when they happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack's downwards gaze comes to the sketchbook resting near the tip of his shoe. It's been a few seconds of silence and it's already unbearable for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so maybe his attempts to court you went unnoticed. If anything they were miscommunicated. Clearly, though, he's hit a second chance jackpot. He kicks at your sketchbook, pages still open. He watches it slide to under the table, head cocked in thought. "You’re drawing's wrong."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a slow silence before you respond. A giggle starts deep in your chest before it evolves into a full-blown laugh. “I mean, it’s not like I had anything to go on. What, want me to use old biology textbooks? Back when frogs were like, five inches long a thousand years ago?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least your laugh broke the tension settling deep in his gut. It’s always that laugh and smile of yours, isn’t it? It stirs up feelings every time he hears it ring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want some reference?” Jamack finally takes his chance. His hands are still buried in his pockets, his eyes lidded as he focuses on you. The question overlaps your last word and he curses himself at his eagerness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're fairly certain that's what that flinch was, anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He casts his gaze to you, sudden confidence nearly overshadowing the longing. This is a huge risk he’s chosen to take. Briefly, Jamack wonders if you know that already. Know that this is not only just unheard of but so outside the culture he grew up with, that he’s hopped straight into uncharted territory. He finally has a choice with his life, and he's chosen </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His hands are at his tie again, fiddling with the loose strings jutting out the cut bottom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dammit all, if this is actually happening, he’s not going to head into it uneasy. He had a plan for this, dammit, so he might as well see it through now. Suave intentions pour into his muscles as he toys with the rolled cuff of his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” You’re floored by his statement. This was supposed to end in an argument between you and you dealing with the awkward aftermath of rejection later. “I, uh, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, since you’ve been doing some serious studying on me lately.” The tapping of his shoes reaches your ears before the visual of him approaching reaches your eyes. All too suddenly he’s close to you with a predatory gaze, one that you haven’t seen since the first days of traveling together. Before you realize, you’ve backed near into the wall to create some form of social barrier between the two of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes." You blurt, anticipating the next events. You can feel your ears heating up at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s suave, you’ll give him that. Before you reach the cold concrete, his arm has snuck around your waist, keeping you flush against him. There's a stark contrast in body temperature between the two of you. Your amphibious crush runs a few degrees cooler than your body, a fact that is made obvious by the alcohol keeping your system warmer than usual. The radiating flush across his cheeks nearly matches your own, and you can feel the heat from it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> blushing back in the tunnels, you think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You vocalize surprise when he adeptly spins you both on his heels, securing his grip at your waist and leaning you backward. He's dipping you, you realize, your arms shooting out and gripping at his shoulders for balance. The noise you make seems to spur him on as his head lowers to yours. The size difference between you both is much more obvious as his other hand slides the base of your neck. Jamack is a lot larger than you typically take him for and he's cradling you to him so easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fissions of excitement shiver down your spine once his lips meet yours. Jamack's mouth is a lot larger. His lips, while pursed, still encompass most of your own. Despite this, the texture feels heavenly against yours.  The difference isn't as wild as you imagined; there's more muscle to his mouth, giving his lips a more tensed feeling. The mustache at his upper lip isn't composed of hair - answering your silent question - but instead a coloration marking. An adorable coloration marking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jamack kisses you soft and controlled - eyes closed, breath traveling across your face. It has you melting into it. It’s frustrating that your arms can't fully wrap around his neck due to his build. Instead you opted for sliding your fingertips across his cheeks, cupping his face and holding him close to you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A groan emits from low in his throat. The breath fanning your face isn't so slow anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When jamack pulls away, it leaves you blinking stupidly up at him. Your hands fall to his chest and you can feel the rhythmic pumping of his heart beneath your palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well?" Jamack pries, slowing the tips of his teeth in a smile. His eyes search your face for any sign of discomfort, any slight twitch of rejection at his boldness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it was affirmation he wanted, it's what he would get. "That was divine," you praise, pressing up on your toes to keep you molded against his chest as he lifts you to a stand, lips ghosting against his as you speak. "Don't you dare stop."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Do Mod Frog typically kiss? Jamack is </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> adept at this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You lift your head to keep his lips against yours, both his hands now finding their place at the small of your back. Jamack is letting you lead the kiss now, content with just feeling you against him. Impatiently your tongue pries at his lips, then teeth, aiming to intensify the kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His tongue practically dwarfs your own, as you'd expect. Letting you lead this was a matter of tactics. He’s pulling you tighter to him now, backing up to the raised stretch of concrete you used as a bed. Your shirt rises just enough to allow his fingers to brush across your bare skin as you straddle his leg, something he's been avoiding until now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack is hoping the new position of him sitting down will quell the rising heat in his belly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, boy, it doesn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The new position is so intimate - just him holding you close, the warmth between your legs that's prominent against his thigh, your lips on his - is spurring his own heat into a fire. Jamack’s fingers grip the skin of your hips, keeping his other hand squared firmly to the small of your back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're so warm," Jamack murmurs, turning his head to break the kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t stop your advances, however, you slide from his lips to nuzzle against his neck and kiss at his cheeks. The darker green is rough against your lips, a texture that adds to the heat in-between your legs. "Hm, 'nd you're so beautiful," you murmur back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack freezes then chirps, an action that was concerning enough for you to pull away. His vocal cords are inflated slightly, puffing out his cheeks. He can't meet your eyes as a darker shade of green dusts across his features. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, that's cute. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>"That just, happens," he says, voice husky, and he clears his throat. He tugs at his tie twice before it becomes unraveled, hanging loosely around his neck. "Sometimes. Ignore it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your fingers ghost over the placket of his dress shirt, pausing to tease at the button near the collar. The alcohol that settled over you in a pleasant haze seems to have intensified even the smallest of moments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's what you tell yourself, at least. There's the very real possibility that you're just that eager for any sort of contact. Either way, it makes the moment heavy, intimate, and all the more enjoyable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, well," you start, acutely aware and anxious at your performance for the first time since this started. "How do we do this?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell me I don’t have to explain the birds and the bees to you,” he groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You push at his shoulder in response, knocking him back to his elbows. “Of course not,” you roll your eyes with a lopsided smile, “It’s like you said. I don’t exactly have, well, reference.” He follows your gaze to the button of his pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, for one, there’s certain </span>
  <em>
    <span>positions</span>
  </em>
  <span> we frogs usually do it in,” he lifts his palm as he talks in animated gestures. “But," he drags out, “I don’t really think it’s a thing your kind usually goes for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack swallows the lump in his throat at the thought. The idea of him mounting you face down causes a strain against the fabric of his pants. Usually thoughts like this stay between him and his hand and he’s quickly building up a new type of embarrassment. Horny embarrassment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> “So, are you pinning me down then?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-uh,” he chides, grabbing at your hips and pulling you flush against his groin, “You’ll be riding me. I've had a hell of a day already, and watching a doll like you is just the way I want to relax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soft command has you reeling in excitement. Your panties are damp by this point by just his kisses and words. You hope he still talks as confidently as he does through the whole act. God, that voice was going to drive you insane if he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamacks fingers entwine at the base of your hair again, and you lean down to meet him for another kiss. Naively, you think it’ll be as gentle as the last. Something probes at your lips and you part them. Finally, he was using his tongue against yours - and suddenly you’re completely overwhelmed with the muscle invading your mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stretches your jaw wide as it moves in, completely filling your mouth whole. Jamack is exerting his dominance, even from below you, completely overwhelming you in another passionate kiss. It's messy and clumsier instinctively seeking friction, your hips grind down into his, searching for his own arousal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a bit of a surprise when all you find is only a bump to rut against. Well, there were already some differences you were expecting. Just because you didn’t feel anything now, didn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be anything later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> hoped there would be something there later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You pull back once it’s harder to breathe, hazy eyes holding Jamack’s gaze. The tip of his tongue sticks out between his lips, siliva connecting you two. You have a feeling your jaw is going to be sore tomorrow morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Frogs always use their tongues this good?" You slur, dazed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nope," he chuckles. "Just me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You pause, reminded of his confession earlier. Did he seriously change the way he does things to keep you close?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you getting to work or not, doll?” He spurs you on. The new nickname has your eyes snapping to meet his. “We’re not gonna be staining perfectly good clothes, are we?”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wouldn't dream of putting you in that situation,” you reply, voice lower than normal. “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> gonna be putting you somewhere messy.” You’re biting your lip as Jamack rests against the too-flat pillow, head propped up on his arm to watch you. He lets your nimble fingers unbutton the white dress shirt, trailing all the way down to his waistband. Eagerly, you untuck the bottom hem of the fabric, sitting back to observe your progress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lighter green that splits Jamacks face and the underside of his palms continues down his throat and chest, narrowing into a diagonal ‘V’ shape aligning where the tops of his hips are. You snicker at the resemblance to the sought after 'happy trail' you usually go for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When your hands fall to his chest, then drag down to his stomach and off to the sides, he visibly shivers. He hasn't much to compare to for human standards, and worry nips at the back of his thoughts. It's not every day - well, it's never really been - that someone is this close to his soft underbelly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack hopes this will become a regular occurrence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You ghost your hands down his sides, keeping note of the heavy breathing and hammering of Jamack's heart in his chest. The softness of his stomach is just as impressive as the firm, toned muscle underneath. You equate it to his stocky build, or perhaps frog biology, that not even a hint of muscle shows. He really is beautiful to you, and rather attractive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your fingers plucked at the button of his fly before popping them open. Jamack sucks in a breath as you drag the zipper down, palming them open wider. Given the cue, he shifts his weight so you can drag off his pants to his calves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've gotta give you a warning," Jamack starts, aiming for a pause in your antics, "It's, probably not what you're expecting. Maybe even bigger." A devilish smirk crosses his features, masking his nerves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm expecting frog-decorated boxers," you grunt, nearly falling back as you officially peel off the dress pants. One of his shoes comes with it, Jamack using his free toes to knock off the other. "Kinda disappointed at these professional ones." You snap the elastic of his boxers to make a point. The situation briefly strikes you as odd. You, a human, and him, a usually well kept mute currently lying in his boxers - a phrase which you can't get your head around - it's a horny swirl of surrealness. Finding someone outside of your species attractive - in more than just a romantic sense - is a feeling you never thought you'd experience.  Before the thoughts have you spiraling, you push them away, intending on showing Jamack just how much you actually care for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your hands trail over where his cock should be. There's an impressive bulge underneath the cloth. Drawn to it, your mouth waters at your intended action. Jamack swears when you palm over it, until finally, he's naked under you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," you slip out, blinking at the swollen slit that lies across the bulge. It's slick and so much </span>
  <em>
    <span>warmer</span>
  </em>
  <span> than the rest of Jamack. The two faux-lips are parted slightly by a small, pale pink triangle pushing out as thick as two of your fingers. You grin at the knowledge that this has to be some kind of sheath. Before Jamack can guide you, your thumb presses into the pink flesh with a swipe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack groans at the contact, the full length of his cock pushing eagerly outwards. You're chewing your bottom lip as you watch the show. It extends out farther than any other lover you've had, and when you think it would stop, it presses out farther still. Your mouth falls open, eyes widening as the appendage stands fully erect.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack sits up on his elbows, visible alarm on his face. "There's </span>
  <em>
    <span>differences</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he starts, "That, uhm, we're going to need to address, I'm sure." Your initial reaction isn't giving him confidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You weren't expecting anything human in relation. Well, you don't really know what you were expecting, to be honest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing now fully erect before you is a thick, long, pointed cock of your mute lover. It's base still follows suit of being the thickest point - something you're excitedly familiar with- and you swear it's larger than the circumference of your wrist. Running along the underside of the shaft is one thick vein that stops just at the tip. The tip itself has a much wider slit than that of a human's, you note. It's already leaking pre, a drop of it running down the vein of his cock. Your eyes follow the drop's descent, noting that along the underside of his cock are six parallel divots that look as if they're producing some sort of slick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're mouth waters again as you immediately reach forward and wrap your hand around the center, feeling the ridges you missed along the sides. The action elicits a groan from Jamack that rolls into a full </span>
  <em>
    <span>croak. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You're sure by this point your panties will have a visible wet spot by the time you shed them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've never wanted something in me so bad," you blurt, ears reddening at your sudden perverse confession. You're sure this not-standard equipment he has will feel absolutely divine in you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, you were going to be the death of Jamack. He's decided that right now. Your words have him oozing more slick, and your hand at his cock? His hips involuntary jerk into you. "Okay, okay," he breathes, "Things are going to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>messy. Jus-just-"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack lurches forward with a startle at the sight of you between his legs, mouth open and nearly at the tip of his cock. The slurred </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatareyoudoing</span>
  </em>
  <span> is accompanied by his hands at your hair, pushing your head back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm-" you grunt, pushing back at his hands, "-sucking you off!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shudders, hands gripping your hair still, no longer applying force. Humans are gross. Humans are gross and he's worse for getting excited for this. You're giving a convincing pout, and it sways him just enough to try this out. "Whatever. Jus-just, move my suit. I don't want any </span>
  <em>
    <span>of this</span>
  </em>
  <span> on it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You hum, not registering fully what he's saying. Your hands are covered in sticky strands of what you assume is a constant dribble pre at this point, gravity pulling them down your arms. If this is what he's making already, you're going to be stuffed when he cums. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> being stuffed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally leaning forward, you take the tip into your mouth, tongue swirling around it. It's not your first rodeo doing oral, but apparently it is Jamack's, so you're determined to go above and beyond. The taste isn't bad, you muse, and his smell is somewhat like wet flour. What surprises you is the texture of his appendage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's warm and soft with a decent amount of give to his cock. You're actually happy at the thought; if it was firmer, you'd have to be preparing yourself a lot more. The initial thickness is about the size of two of your fingers, but he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>long</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he gains circumference fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lolling your tongue out of your mouth, you part your lips wider, suckling his shaft deeper to the back of your tongue. The ridges along his sides start just a half inch down and are much more prominent than they look, you note. One of your hands wrap around the base of his cock and you squeeze, earning a gush of fluid from him in response. Your thumb and forefinger can't even touch themselves until your hand is mid-shaft. He's </span>
  <em>
    <span>big,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a thought that has your pussy clenching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're not the only one who's dripping, however. The divots along the underside of his cock seem to be at a slow, constant leak of slick. The tip of his cock spills out rivulets of pre each time you squeeze your hand up his shaft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That explains why he wanted you to move his suit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're having a hard time figuring out what is the most sensitive - there's no real jerking reaction from him yet - and you want to see him lose control. The tip, while you dance your tongue around it, doesn't seem to hold the same sensitivity that human counterparts would. This just spurs on the drive you have at getting a reaction from him. The sound of Jamacks voice alone is music to your ears, and right now, you just want to make him </span>
  <em>
    <span>sing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You suck him in deeper, quickly finding that the stretch is too much for you to take. You silently curse yourself for having an active gag reflex as he's already sitting heavy at the back of your tongue. You want to deepthroat him so </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Instead, you pump your hand in time with your mouth, tongue curling and flicking at the first pair of divots along the underside of his cock. The groan that you receive from Jamack is desperate and needy for more. Taking that as praise, you focus more on the subtle ridges and bumps along the underside of his shaft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that's so good," praises Jamack. He's in heaven. Your mouth is doing absolute wonders on his cock, hips responding to the stimulus in soft rocking motions. His fingers keep a firm hold at the base of your hair - finally, something to hold onto, his instincts scream - keeping you from pulling too far back. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Restraint</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he reminds himself. Choking you in his cock isn't ideal, but he never wants you to leave. His stomach muscles are tensed to keep his focus. Jamack's own mouth has formed a permanent 'o' shape at this point. If this is what humans do for </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it sure beats the hell out of the breeding process back at the pond. Jamack is planning on doing this with you way more often. He presses his fingertips into your scalp when you pull back, desperate to keep you in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Due to the French kiss before, your jaw aches. You bit off more than you could chew, leaving you desperate for a breath of air. A few small tugs followed by a rough jerk and you're finally off his cock with an audible 'pop', gulping in a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack looks down to you, your face an absolute mess in precum. He's panting and watching you try and use your slicked arm, then the slick-stained front of your shit to tidy yourself up. You're already drenched with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There's a </span>
  <em>
    <span>reason</span>
  </em>
  <span> we don't do that," he emphasizes, eyes lidded. If this was something he could have been getting all along, he would have done it sooner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You grin, a sight that makes his stomach tense, and he grabs the collar of your shirt in his fist before you can go back down on him. Jamack lies down fully on the covers with a flop, tugging you upward with him. "Off. Now. All of it," he commands, other hand guiding your hips to settle just below his flushed dick. "Shirt first, doll."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goosebumps adorn your skin as you nod with a whimper. Jamack's gaze falls heavy on you, lip curling into a smirk as he watches you slide out of the loose garment. He would have really loved to see you in that lacy bra, but he'll have to leave that thought for next time. Jamack's hands are sliding along your sides in an instant, tracing the curvature of your breasts. "So soft," he murmurs. You're certainly the first </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span> he's seen naked, but not the first mammal. Jamacks thumbs brush across your hardening nipples and his brow raises at your fidgeting. "What, sensitive?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, just," you whine, brain too hazy with lust to decide whether or not he actually knows what he's touching, "Squeeze 'em. No nipples yet." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're greeted with a firm twist at your left nipple and then a tug before he grasps them both in his hands, kneading them in small circles and pushing them together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he does know, apparently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamacks eyes are glued to your torso, admiring your form. Female frogs aren't a common commodity back at the pond; even he's barely had any intimate moments with them. Still, you're so small in comparison to them - to </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> - and unbelievably soft. The fact that you're eagerly seeking his touches creates an unknown emotion in his own chest. You're beautiful to him, and so responsive to the cupping and pawing at your breasts that he wants to feel more. Jamacks tongue is a step ahead of his thoughts, already poking out of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamacks hands are at your thighs, thumbs kneading and fingers gripping. Something moderately damp and wide is at your sternum, sandwiched between your breasts. You're pulled out of your daze by the feeling, eyes landing on Jamacks extended tongue. Your chin tucks to your collarbone in brief confusion, eyes flicking to meet his. The sudden eye contact crushes Jamack's instincts and he pauses, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a pause between you both. "Thith okay?" He asks, tongue blocking pronunciation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question, along with his stunned pause, has you laughing. "I wondered if 'ya would use that." Your creative brain had always fantasized about the many uses of a prehensile tongue, but you've been nervous to voice the idea. If Jamack was going to be as perverted as you, you were going to take it in stride. You lean into the appendage, using your arms to squish your chest around it. You're biting your bottom lip, kneading the flesh beneath your teeth as you focus back to his tongue. This entire time, it's been slowly circling your right breast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smirk is quickly tugging Jamacks lips back into a confident grin. So you're a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>freak</span>
  </em>
  <span>, aren't you? Now with your permission, his tongue fully encircles your breast, squeezing and kneading at the flesh. It's not slimy or wet with siliva, and the flesh only has a hint of a rough texture to it. Still, it feels perversely devine lavashing your chest. The tip finds itself at your other nipple. Theres no defined point at the end, and the rounded edge can't exactly tug or pinch, but Jamack is making a great effort into kneading and flicking at the area. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you lean forward to gain more friction, your hands find themselves again at his chest. You're grinding at the base of his cock, enjoying the way the base hits your clit, when suddenly the tongue at your breasts is removed. Jamack has his tongue now secured firmly around your waist as he drags you forward onto him, hands spreading your thighs wider apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To scoot upwards, your hips have to straddle his cock, knees not quite fully hitting the blankets below. You're grinding into him now, desperate to gain any sort of friction at the throbbing heat between your legs. You're thankful he won't be seeing the wet spot in your shorts because now they're absolutely soaked with his pre. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack keeps one hand at your breast while the other moves down your stomach, tugging at the fraying strings of your shorts. His tongue is back in his mouth to articulate his thoughts. "We're gonna' need to be equally bare, here, if you want to finish this through, doll," he suggests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're out of them before he finishes his statement. Soon, you're grinding your bare lips across his thick appendage, thighs already slimy from the amount of pre. The shaky moan that emits from your throat has Jamack's cock twitching against you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's always a pleasantly different feeling to be skin to skin the first time. Not surprisingly, Jamack's cock still runs cooler than your own heat, an odd shift into temperature play. Still, the texture of him at your clit with every upwards roll of your hips is heavenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shifting your weight to your dominant leg, your hand reaches between to grab at his cock, angling him to your opening. "Ready?" You breathe, eyes meeting Jamack's. You're impatient and you just want to feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> already. He holds your gaze as you push his tip in and slide down, both of you watching each other's face melt into pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The initial stretch is always the best part. His size makes you glad you're topping. Even with how wet you both are, you find yourself already comfortably full just halfway down onto his cock. It's a slight painful sting as you rock yourself down onto him, but you're damn determined to take him all in one go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>," you moan, the first to break eye contact as you look at the invading monster between your legs. There's still an inch of him left to go, the thickest part. The part as thick as your wrist. "You're going to stuff me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack's hips jerked into you suddenly. If only you </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> what phrases like that do to him and how much he had to stop from fucking into your tight heat. "Stuffing is exactly what I plan on doing." He states through grit teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's no apology for the last few inches that sink into you with his thrust. Your mouth hangs open and your brows knit in concentration, moaning. You're teetering on the feeling of both pleasure and pain, being filled so uncomfortably full. Guaging his size through your hands was one thing - you knew he was big; but actually feeling him, fully sheathed inside of you? It's an entirely different expirence. Your hips are grinding onto him, testing out just how much weight you can use with him sitting heavy in you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're going to need to stretch beforehand next time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your hips jut forward in slow, rocking movements to ease the persistent twinge of residual pain. Your hand finds your clit, rubbing with three fingers in deliberate circles to ease the process. Your eyes are scrunched closed, your unoccupied hand fanned out at his stomach to steady yourself. His cock </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulses</span>
  </em>
  <span> in you, the throb making you clench in response. "Jamack," you moan out, grinding your hips side to side. "Jamack, you feel," you pause to exhale, "You feel so-s-so good." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack adores his name at your lips. His hands rest at your thighs, earnest and softy kneading. There was no stopping at this point. "You're so tight," he praises, "So tight and warm." He rocks his hips up to meet your thrusts, a lewd smile tugging at the top of his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thrusts have your thighs clenching around him. The sting fades faster than you thought - you're silently thanking the alcohol still clouding your brain - and you're already greedily lifting your hips up and down onto him. Each time your lips meet the base of his cock, he grinds up into you, stretching you further. You build up a steady pace, enjoying the feeling of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You know the tip of his cock is flush against your cervix. The typical sting is muddled by the alcohol and the soft anatomy of his length. Impossible, lewd thoughts are running through your head, picturing how he must look inside of you. You lift your hips up and hover with him just an inch inside of you, panting and overestimated. "Just a sec-</span>
  <em>
    <span>ooommf</span>
  </em>
  <span>-!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack, ever impatient and needy, whips his tongue out and secures it around your torso as soon as you pause. He uses its grip at your waist to slam you back down onto his cock, keeping himself sheathed fully in you. A groan tears from your throat at the motion and you buck against him. If you can't get off the ride, you try testing out a slower pace to catch your breath, leisurely rolling your hips into his. Every time you make a move to lift off him past a certain point, he repeats the same vice-like grip with his tongue, keeping himself fully snug inside of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The control he has over you is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a sight you are above him, eyes glassy and hair a mess. He's picking up the pace for you when your legs start to shake from your weight, hips bucking up to meet yours. Your hips slam back into Jamack's with a moan each time, nails digging into the soft skin of his underbelly. All he wants right now is to plow into your tight, warm pussy that's clamping him like a vice.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"C'mon," you pry, picking the pace up. Instead of slamming up and down, a motion that's directed towards his peleasure, you opt for vigorously rocking your hips at his cock. The angle drags across your inner walls so </span>
  <em>
    <span>nicely</span>
  </em>
  <span>, building up the waves of pleasure faster. You shift so your hands are planted firmly and balled up at his chest, angling him into that spongy spot that has you see stars. The ridges along the sides of his cock are dragging against spots you didn't even know you </span>
  <em>
    <span>had.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much better than you could have hoped for. "That's it, that's what I want. Right there, Jamack - those ridges on 'ya are just, hmmmhhh," your cut off by another moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you would have known </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what you would be getting, you would have jumped on Jamack sooner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Let me hear you sing for me," he coos, voice husky. He can feel how you've stretched to accommodate him, but that only accentuates the sqeesing of your walls around him. You're so responsive, you're warm, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much warmer than he would have thought, and you're feverishly riding him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's not going to last. Jamack's groans have unabashedly started to meld into croaks at the end, vocal cords vibrating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's the hottest thing you've ever heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, that's right, keep me right there," he moans out, "Use me and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise </span>
  </em>
  <span>I'll fill you up good. I'll fill you up nice 'n round." He knows he's drabbling on, but on the off chance this is a one-time-only, he wants to indulge in a few more kinks. "I'm gonna </span>
  <em>
    <span>breed</span>
  </em>
  <span> you."</span>
</p><p><span>How was he supposed to know that an innocent thing like you was such a freak in bed? You're begging for him to buck into you harder, faster after that. Dirty talk is just your sugar, and his sweet voice is going to drive you to a diabetic coma. You're not there yet, but the thought of him filling you, </span><em><span>stuffing</span></em><span> you, </span><em><span>breeding</span></em> <em><span>you</span></em><span>, tightens the coil in your gut. The waves of pleasure are hitting you at a near constant rate and they're only intensifying. </span></p><p>
  <span>"Hmh, get ready," he slurs, drunk off the feeling of you around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Your head snaps up to meet his eyes with a desperate </span>
  <em>
    <span>wine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "Jamack, please m'not," you beg, circling your hips down onto him, "I'm gonna get close, it's good, just, just keep…" You've been chasing the building waves of this for a bit. Him reaching his peak before you isn't a problem - in fact you're dying to see how he looks when he cums - it's the fact that you're so close and you don't want this to end. You need a moment before you keep going. "I'm outta breath and I can't…"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pressure pooling in jamack's gut is about to pop. He heaves a few breaths and grips at you tightly, croaking at your whine. The shaking of your legs isn't just from pleasure; it must be hard going all-out to ride him. There's ways to fix that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The movements are a blur, but suddenly you're on your back, legs wrapped around his waist as Jamack hovers above you. "Don't worry," he grunts, pushing in you again, "I never leave a job half done." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Jamack is railing you into the covers. Your legs wrap around his waist, angling him up into your spot that has you whimpering. "Oh, yes," you breathe, the waves of pleasure batting at your core. Your fingers are rubbing fervently at your clit now that you don't have to hold yourself upright. You're pushing your hips into his, greedily meeting each hard thrust. "Jamack, please I'm gonna - please, make me, please -"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You cut yourself off with a loud, wonton moan as you cum, mouth falling open and eyes going hazy. Your legs are locked around him, forcing him to stay deep as you ride out your orgasam. His cock gives slightly around your squeezing walls, but you stay so full during your high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's heavenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your cunt squeezing at his cock, milking him and pushing him closer to his own edge wasn't Jamacks tipping point. It was you </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span> for him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>needing</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, that has Jamack rutting into you harder. "That's it, doll," he encourages, falling to his forearm next to you and hiking your leg higher up his, burying deep into you. You're going to have bruises from this later, the thought making his cock throb.  "That's right, cum on me. That's what I want to see. That's a good girl." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes are closed in concentration, instincts overrunning Jamacks thoughts. He's gripping at you desperately, keeping you pinned close underneath him. He's focused all too much on the feeling of you spamming around him, the need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>breed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>eager</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>accepting</span>
  </em>
  <span> you are of his cock - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's it, Jamack," you moan. You know he's close by his intermittent and desperate thrusts. You can barley rock your hips into his to help, so you opt for your voice to coo at him. "Fill me up, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I want you to breed me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's all Jamack needed to send him hurdling over the edge. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, shit yes, I'm gonna stuff you, shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" he babbles incoherently, burying himself to the hilt as he releases. He keeps rocking through each big spurt even though he can't force himself any deeper. The grinding just feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You can feel each spray of cum pump through his cock and into you and you feel absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It's not just pouring from the tip, but from those divots at the bottom of his cock as well. You feel so stuffed, so impossibly full that you can't help but grind up into him in response. There's so much of it coming out that you can feel it spilling out of you, coating both your thighs and spilling down the curve of your ass despite how plugged up you are. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You swear you can feel a swell in your lower abdomen from the amount cum. The thought has your pussy clench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's nearly a minute before Jamack shows signs of stopping. Finally, it ends, his cock deflating enough to withdraw from you. A gush of cum follows out onto the sheets below, the pink flesh of his cock starting to sink back into its slit. There's an obscene amount of slime covering the both of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack stays clinging to you as he rests fully on both forearms, head falling next to yours on the tattered pillow. He can't catch his breath and he's drooling at your aftermath. Your legs fall to the soaked blanket and you make a point to cage him close to you, holding him to your chest and kneading at the tense shoulders of his back. You're breathing just as hard as him. You both stay in the clingy position for some time as your high wears off. You instinctually nuzzle yourself close into his cheek, kissing along the area of his jaw that you can reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're nearly asleep when Jamack moves, startling you. He's rolled to lie beside you, hand at his chest, the other draped dramatically over closed eyes. You choose to lie in comfortable silence before you prop yourself up, rolling to your feet as you search for your shirt. "Hmm, my legs are like jell-o," you slur with a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I have," Jamack pauses for a breath, "No idea what that is."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You wobbly sit at the edge of the concrete, balling up your shirt and wiping the excess of cum off of his lower abdomen and thighs. Jamack jerks, peering to you from underneath his forearm. "What are you doing?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sounds just as tired as you feel. "Aftercare?" You say in more of a question. Is aftercare not a part of what Mod Frogs do? Come to think of it, you're not entirely sure exactly how they approach activities like this. You're suspecting that having sex - intimate sex - isn't part of their culture at all. This could be Jamack catering to both of your desperate urges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That'll be a nagging question for later. "You don't wanna sleep in the mess, do you?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sup'pose not," comes his reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once you've cleaned yourself of the slimy mess, you're immediately back at his side, back turned to him as you shimmy so his side is flush against back. "C'mon," you pry, hit by the exhaustion of your activities and sudden sobriety, "Cuddle time. Best part." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack had dozed until you talked to him, only registering what you said once your arm reaches and grasps at his opposite one. He doesn't fight as you pull him to his side, positioning his arm around your waist. His hand cups your breast and you hum in content. You're still warmer than he is, a feeling that he has longed for flushed against himself. He finds himself curing around you, fully encompassing the roll of big spoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You're going to be his personal heating pad from now on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mmm, cuddles 'r the best part," you murmur, sleep pulling you to it's embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jamack wouldn't know, but he's dreamt about the feeling. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Longed</span>
  </em>
  <span> for this taboo, even. The fact that you just accepted this without even a thought has his heart throb with adoration for you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cuddling is a mammal thing, Jamack tries to dismiss, but a smile graces his features all the same. He nuzzles into your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of you as he follows after you in sleep. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Inspiration from villiancrush and sunkenswamp on Tumblr.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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